The surest way to bring summer

Is to take out wicker verandah chairs

with velvet cushions missing buttons.

Fold yourself into a seat,  

an origami of arms and legs.

Light is a fizzy cider 

made from last year’s apples-- 

the chainsaw burr of small speedboats

lapse, as fishing rods cast

lines over sweet spots.

Below, in Depression Glass

greens, wall eyed bass

drift in the current.

Couples swim in salty shallows,

leaving briny suits to later dry.

Chairs become threaded with wind,

cushions fade in the noon sun,

crabs puncture the eel grass

with their sideways walk.

Chinamen’s hats relinquish

their stone perches with

suddenness;

children pry them away.

After a time, light is no longer  

a liquid. Sunburned arms

and legs stow the chairs

in the garage.

The surest way

to usher summer out,

is to fold yourself into a swan--

and fly south.